


Alexanderplatz

by wildechilde17



Series: The business trilogy [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Advent Calendar, F/M, First Kiss, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 19:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8726500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildechilde17/pseuds/wildechilde17
Summary: Day One of the Clintasha Advent Challenge: Firsts





	

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this was written in response to the Advent Calendar Tumblr prompt before I saw Zombie-sock's masterful work. 
> 
> I miss writing I'm going to see if I can write the advent calendar in the business time universe despite a career that has sucked up my life and failed to spit me out.

Exiting the bahnhof causes the realization that Alexanderplatz is really a big, wide open space. When you get down to it, really down to it, being tailed down to it. Lots of people about though, or as the red head not scanning the crowd a step or two in front of him calls them, collateral damage.  

Clint has a tiny surreal thought flash though his head, the bad guys and them, you know the good guys, running round the world clock trying to catch up to each other like a heavily armed Tom and Jerry cartoon.  He doesn’t catch the weirdly hysterical snort before it escapes him. 

Romanoff’s eyes dart back to him.  She’s unimpressed. Coolly unimpressed. He doesn’t bother shrugging.  He’d shrug if it was cool disappointment he saw, unimpressed is just her default state. 

They don’t look back, looking back is the kind of body language that screams ‘hi, something to notice over here’. They keep walking.  The crowd that hovers around the walls of the train station dissipates like a dust cloud. He has caught up to her in two steps and is about to suggest in a single word that they split up when she slips her hand into his.

The pressure in different part of his palm tells him where she’s spotted them.  It’s not the most useful information given that pulling a weapon here is pretty much akin to turning rogue agent. He’s grateful they haven’t split up yet anyway. 

He didn’t used to think he needed company to do this job.

She tugs him forward without making it look like he is being led anywhere. There was an acrobat who did this horse act once, he remembers vaguely, always looked like the horse was doing its own thing, like she wasn’t its trainer, its owner. 

Another perfectly placed roll of her palm against his and he knows they have to separate.  Tom is too close now.

He doesn’t see her smile at first, but he feels her slow slightly.  She steers him, positioning him in front of her and then he sees it.  Sweet, goofy, overly large grin. Tilted head. And he is back against the wall of something or other haus. 

Someone who isn’t Natasha Romanoff giggles and says something soft and beguiling in German. Someone who isn’t Natasha Romanoff leans in and kisses him. 

He shuts his eyes.

He never shuts his eyes.

It’s in the name.

His hands aren’t in her hands or at his side anymore they are tangled in the ringlets of hair at the nape of her neck.  He swings her round, thoughtlessly, pushes her back into the wall and kisses back. 

He could do this all day.

Jesus. 

He could do this. 

His eyes snap open.  He lets her pull away. He swallows as hard as he is willing to risk, ducks his head to prevent her from catching him.  He damn well isn’t going to let her hear anything in his voice.

“Got a good look?” he says.

The smile on her face stutters and returns.

“A and B changed course.  C is over by the exit, scanning again,” she says lowly. 

He smiles back, pushes hair from her face. “Two down.” 

“Buy me ice cream and I think we are home free.”

He grabs her hand, squeezing it as he forces himself to look out across the field of people.  There is an ice cream shop in the lowest floor of the Park Inn. Well, there was the last time he was in Berlin. He can’t quite remember when he was last in Berlin. It was before her. Before her suddenly feels a very long time ago. 

“Public displays of affection,” he grunts out.

“Make people very uncomfortable.”

Clint pulls her in and puts his arm over her shoulder. He turns his head a fraction and nuzzles the top of her head affectionately. C is still in place but his gaze hasn’t landed on them in seconds. In their line of work seconds is enough.

Someone who is not quite Natasha Romanoff smiles in his arms.

And Clint does not answer, fuck ‘em all.


End file.
